


Because of His Tail

by PrincessCaramel



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: A/U, Bonding, Bulma definitely wants him but is conflicted, F/M, Fluff, Headcanon, Humor, Jealous Yamcha, Saiyan Culture, Saiyan Instincts, Saiyan mating, Three Year Gap (Dragon Ball), Vegeta doesn’t understand Earth culture, Vegeta has the hots for Bulma and tries to hide it, Vegeta still has his tail
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24974959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessCaramel/pseuds/PrincessCaramel
Summary: Vegeta is invited by Bulma to stay at her house after the events of Namek. When a mysterious youth from the future warns the Z fighters of an impending threat, the Saiyan Prince’s blood sings at the thought of proving himself to be the strongest. But his life is complicated when he finds that vulgar earth woman to be the most fascinating female he has ever met. Can he resist his base instincts and focus on his training? Or will he give into temptation?
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Because of His Tail

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! After reading fanfics for years I’ve finally decided to write my own. I am in no way a writer and I may be overly ambitious in trying to write a multi-chapter fic right off the bat. Let’s see how this goes!

Bulma came awake slowly, languidly stretching her legs under the blankets. She attempted to fall back asleep when she remembered why she was so tired - she was up all night repairing all the battle droids the ungrateful prince had destroyed! She sat straight up in bed, her shoulder length azure hair in disarray. That intolerable bastard is going to kill himself one of these days. Her face muscles clenched in consternation. And she’s helping him do it. Her face relaxed at that thought. The thought of him dying was a sobering one. She tried not to focus on why a few tears pooled in her eyes when she imagined a life without the stoic, reserved Saiyan in it.

Blinking the tears away Bulma placed her feet firmly on the plush white carpet, curling her toes in between the soft fibers. She stood and stretched her arms over her head, the bones in her back popping in a satisfying way. She lowered her arms and turned towards the bed, deciding rather petulantly that today she would not make her bed. The overworked scientist trudged down the stairs to the kitchen where she was greeted by the scents of a hearty breakfast. Homemade blueberry pancakes, fluffy and fresh off the stove; pork sausages glistening with leftover grease; scrambled eggs, bacon, toast with strawberry jelly. The lone figure seated at the table was her elderly father, nose buried in his newspaper and smoke curling from the smoldering embers of his cigarette.

“Good mornin’, baby,” Mrs. Briefs called over her shoulder while stirring fluffy yellow eggs in the three skillets she had on the stove. Her blonde curls were effortlessly styled atop her head and her white dress with red polka dots swayed as she danced to the quiet radio on the bar set to an oldies station.

“Hey, mom,” Bulma got out through a jaw-cracking yawn, rubbing her eyes with her fist. Clad in an oversized pink T-shirt with BULMA emblazoned on her breast and a pair of black shorts, she sat down in her chair and glanced directly across the table at the conspicuously empty chair.

Bulma turned towards her dad and asked, “Vegeta hasn’t come in yet?”

Her brows furrowed in concern. He was always the first one in the kitchen. Since finding out how early Vegeta trained, Mrs. Briefs made sure breakfast was on the table at seven o’ clock. This was much too early for Bulma — who never woke up earlier than ten on a good day — and had to be dragged downstairs quite a few times by a hangry Saiyan, grunting ‘Food, Woman,’ into her thigh as he hefted her over his shoulder like a sack full of potatoes.

“No, my dear, he hasn’t. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard his training room at all this morning. That _is_ quite odd for him. Perhaps you should go look for him. He is your guest, after all.”Dr. Briefs mumbled through the cigarette in his mouth, slightly lowering his paper to gaze into his daughter’s concerned eyes. “And you best hurry,” he continued as he raised his paper once again, “your mother won’t let us eat until the whole family is here.”

“That’s so unlike him,” Bulma muttered as she worriedly chewed on her bottom lip. Her baby blue eyes gazed unseeingly at the tabletop. She clenched her fists, gripping the material of her shirt in her lap. The fact that Vegeta was not at the table meant that he could be seriously injured. Her mind was anxiously conjuring up an image of a broken, bloody Vegeta. It wouldn’t be the first time he put himself out of commission and tried to hide it from her. Ever since they received the news of the bleak future that may come upon them with the arrival of two heinous amalgams of metal and flesh, Vegeta had been approaching his dangerous training regime with a determination that bordered on the self-destructive.

The young woman stood and swiftly headed towards the stairs, missing the conspiratorial glance her parents cast towards one another; tiny, secretive smiles graced their lips. The sound of her sock-clad footsteps on the steps were deafening to her ears. It reverberated within her skull and and became the only thing rooting her to reality. Her thoughts became more frantic as she reached the carpeted landing of the second floor, spotting Vegeta’s bedroom at the end of the hall. _If he’s injured, is he in excruciating pain? Why does he stubbornly refuse my help? Why is he so set on going it alone? Wait, could he be sick? Goku dies from a heart virus in the future. Can Vegeta contract it too? We don’t have enough of the vaccine for the both of them. What if I’m too late! What if I find him dea-_

Bulma aggressively shook her head, her blue locks becoming even more of a tangled mess. She was not willing to finish that thought. Her chest felt like it was caving in. Like she was caught under the impressive gravity that Vegeta trained in. She broke into a sprint. There was no point dwelling on what-ifs. She just needed to make sure he was alright. Before she knew it she arrived at his door. But since she was formulating the worst conceivable scenarios in her head she regained awareness at the last possible moment and had to stop herself on the door jam.

As if her suddenly halted momentum snapped some sense back into her, she stoutly gripped the brushed nickel doorknob. After a single second of hesitancy she gently pushed open the door. A standard guest room greeted her. The soft light from the morning sun lit up the bare beige walls from behind the partially drawn curtains. It was a simply furnished room with a nightstand, desk and full sized bed. There were no personal effects to decorate the space, aside for a damaged chestplate with gaping holes over the heart and midsection placed innocuously in the corner. Not willing to let her mind wander to the horrors that befell the Saiyan Prince on the Planet Namek, the bluehead’s eyes were drawn to the purring mass of blankets and pillows in the center of the dwelling. Slightly mollified at the sound of his purring snores, Bulma softly stepped inside and closed the door with a barely audible click. As she approached the Saiyan’s nest she realized, upon closer inspection, the tip of his crested black hair peaking out the left side.

Bulma let out as quiet a giggle that she could manage in relief. She was only slightly irritated at the fact that he had obviously stolen most of the pillows from her bed. She bent down to the floor and couldn’t help but notice how rough the carpet was in his room. If this man refuses to sleep in his bed I should get him a softer carpet, she resolved to herself as she inched her whole body under the top covers. He was just under this last blanket, pink with juicy red strawberries embroidered on its surface. Recognizing this as her favorite blanket that she received as a gift from her grandmother on her eleventh birthday, Bulma’s eye started twitching, her brows drawn low on her forehead. The blanket went missing about 6 months prior. Bulma’s poor mother received a thorough tongue-lashing from her indignant daughter who surmised it may have gotten misplaced after being washed.

With a huff Bulma roughly lifted the last barrier separating her from the slumbering Saiyan and came face to face with his peaceful countenance. His thick black eyebrows were relaxed on his forehead, the crease between his eyes less prominent. His eyes were closed, blanketed by voluminous black lashes that she was envious of. Mapping out the sharp planes of his cheekbones to his plump, very kissable lips, Bulma could feel her cheeks warming and her heart rate growing from a steady beat to a thundering quake not unlike the sounds of the tools she uses to create for him.

Taking a deep breath with a hand fisted at her breast, Bulma calmed her raging heart, and exhaled a — “Get it together, girl” — before preceding to prod the man’s bronze cheek forcefully. “Hey. Wake up, bitch,” she said as she continued to poke his sun kissed cheek in the same spot. “Move your fuzzy butt,” she snickered through an impish smile. With her face just a few inches from his own she detected Vegeta’s purrs morph into low chest rumbling growls, his calm facial expression regretfully reshaping into his usual pouting displeasure with the universe. He seemed to mutter something in his sleep, the strange lilt of it sounding like the guttural language he would sometimes resort to when cursing at her.

Just as she was about to jab his cheek for the twentieth time, a fuzzy brown appendage gripped her wrist forcefully — but not painfully — halting any further efforts on her part. She let out an ungraceful eep! and glanced upwards. Her oceanic blue eyes were met with the inky black pools that were his. They were so dark she could barely even make out his pupils. She’d never been this close to him before. If she had she would have noticed that his eyes were not only black but riddled with little flecks of blues and reds that one could only notice when within such short proximity.

“Do you have a death wish, woman? I thought you were at least somewhat intelligent,” Vegeta husked. Bulma could feel a single drop of sweat pool on her forehead and make a slow, sinuous path down the side of her face. _Oh Kami, please let me live_ she pleaded as she shut her eyes in fear. And then she remembered the roller coaster of emotions she endured from the moment she woke up due to her unexplainable attachment to this insufferable bastard. When she opened her eyes his smug expression was the final straw for her.

Bulma clenched her teeth and screamed directly into his face. “You asshole! Here I was worrying myself sick over the fact that you may have seriously hurt yourself and come to find out that you’re just cuddling my blanket! That! You! Stole!” One of his eyes shut forcefully from the deafening octaves that assaulted his very sensitive ears. However, when she accused him of cuddling with the linen that he rightfully claimed for himself from the laundry room, he saw red.

“Lower your voice, you hellish banshee! I took that linen since it had yet to be claimed as belonging to anyone! If it belongs to you why did you not stake your claim on it by stitching it with your name, as you are so wont to do with every article of clothing you own,” Vegeta exclaimed, pointedly shifting his gaze towards her chest to drive his point home. Bulma shrieked and covered her chest with one hand as the other was still being gripped by the prince’s tail. Meanwhile, Dr. and Panchy Briefs were seated at the table each enjoying a cup of steaming hot coffee. The sound of muffled shouting interrupted their quiet moment together. A resounding _you pervert!_ reached their ears, followed by loud masculine cackling. The couple’s eyes met over the top of their ornately designed porcelain mugs. They smiled. The kids would be down in a minute.

The heiress tried to twist out of the prince’s strong grip, shuffling her feet trying to escape to no avail. Vegeta towered over her, a malicious smirk curling his lips at the scent of her anger. Her natural scent never failed to entice him. It was a flowery, feminine scent that calmed his spirit like no other. At times the piquant smell of ripe strawberries surrounded her, tantalizing his highly evolved olfactory receptors. It was no wonder that the linen he had wrapped so tightly around himself was hers; it was stamped with her favorite fruit. And he was only lying to himself. He was acutely aware to whom the linen belonged to. It could be covered in the worst shit imaginable, yet he would still be able to detect her redolent fragrance from the fibers all the same.

But when he had her fuming at him... The sight of her anger drew him in like nothing else. Her minuscule ki spikes, her natural scent becomes that much more potent. With thousands of years of evolution compelling him, Prince Vegeta of the mighty Saiyan race yielded to his instincts — for when have they ever failed him — bending forward and placing his nose in the crook of her neck. As he inhaled a lungful of her desirable scent, the woman’s chest lifted and grazed his own in an inaudible gasp.

Vegeta continued to chuff and nuzzle in her neck; and as she sat there with her mind emptied of all thought, the touch of long fuzzy appendage coiling about her waist brought her back down to Earth. Bulma rested her chin on top of his head looking down on him with a bemused expression on her heart-shaped face. Not willing to dwell on why the normally surly prince was acting in such a way — and definitely not wanting to focus on the fact that he was fucking adorable like this — Bulma pinched his ear and shouted, “You better move your fuzzy butt right now! I’m starving and I can’t eat until you come downstairs!” She suddenly found herself jostled into the air and draped over something firm with her face directed towards the ground. With a firm spandex clad butt in the center of her vision, Bulma realized Vegeta had hefted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Again. For once she’s the one dragging him out bed and she still ends up being manhandled. “You ape,” she vocalized, voice straining in her anger, “how dare you treat a lady like this!” She proceeded to kick at his front and claw at his back. She made sure to avoid his tail though. The last time she grabbed it he snapped at her hand with his overdeveloped canines. Vegeta made his way out of his room and down the hall towards the stairs, holding tightly to the precious cargo on his muscular shoulder.

“This is entirely your fault, female. Why did you not mention that there was food on the table? Are you that scatterbrained,” he inquired as he placed his foot on the first step. He purposefully tapped her butt with his tail and she let out an affronted squeal. _That seemed to put the noisy female in her place_ the prince thought to himself. He leisurely made his way down the stairs, the young heiress bouncing on his shoulder all the way down. He turned into the kitchen and was met with Panchy’s bright smile. It still unnerved him after a year staying with this strange human family. How can someone be so happy all the damn time? And can she see straight through her eyelids? The answer eluded him.

“Oh! There ya are, dearies! The food would’a gotten cold if ya took any longa’,” Panchy sang, getting up to pull out the seat for Vegeta to place Bulma down as he approached the table.

“Mom, do you have nothing to say about this,” Bulma yelled, widely gesticulating with her hands towards herself and their alien houseguest.

“Vegeta is such a sweet man t’carry ya down the stairs,” her mother replied placing her clasped hands underneath her chin in wonder. “If only I was ten years younga’! But what am I sayin’, I’m a married woman,” she tittered, completely missing the disgusted look thrown her way by her daughter.

“Hn,” Vegeta grunted in distaste. He escaped his lifelong tormentor to be place in the home of these vulgar humans. The kais truly hated him. During his introspective thoughts he dumped Bulma in her seat none too gently, earning him the finger from the petulant woman, and rounded the table to his own spot that he claimed as his own. Bulma glared at him for a moment as he started piling his plate high with the assorted dishes Panchy prepared. Then a thought struck her. Why was he in bed so late today? She completely forgot about that when he was being such a complete enigma just a few minutes prior.

“Vegeta,” Bulma began as she started scooping some eggs onto her plate, “why did you sleep in so late today? You get up at like 4 every day to train.” Vegeta stopped with his fork poised halfway between his plate and his mouth. There were five pancakes dripping with an overabundance of syrup onto the surface of his plate. He lowered his fork. The older couple served themselves food and proceeded to eat, but they were silently observing the children as one of their shouting matches was just about to begin. Bulma busied herself with grabbing some sausage and bacon, missing the self-satisfied smirk that made its way to the prince’s lips.But when she heard him let out a huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh her eyes shot up and her lips pursed at his expression.

Once she looked at him, which Vegeta knew she would, he said, “I couldn’t train because a certain woman moves slower than an Artracon slug!”He said as he cackled maliciously at her wide eyed astonishment from his statement.

Bulma quickly stood and slammed her hands on the table, towering over the seated Saiyan. Dr. Briefs’ coffee spilled out of his cup because of her violent reaction, ruining the newspaper he was reading. He only spared a quick glance towards it. Luckily he had the foresight to subscribe to the paper on his smartphone. While nothing beat holding the morning paper in his hands he knew that he had to be prepared when living with these two hotheads.

“ExCUSE me?! I don’t know what the fuck that is but I take offense to that! The hell you mean I’m slow?!”

“You boast at your superior skills with machines anytime your mouth opens yet I am left wondering why you did not return the bots to me yesterday.”

“You destroyed all twenty of them! I had to repair them all! And I don’t exist just to serve you! I had other work to do when you left them on the floor of my lab! And another thing—”

As they continued to argue Mrs. Briefs watched them fondly. “Oh honey, aren’t they just darlin’” Panchy sighed in happiness as she turned to her husband. “I hear weddin’ bells! Ooh I can’t wait!”

Dr. Briefs glanced up from his phone at the odd couple. Bulma was half over the table, poking the arrogant Saiyan on his regal nose. Vegeta’s shoulders were tensed up to his ears now; his fists were clenched on the tabletop, the stainless steel fork in his hand a mangled mass at this point. A roaring growl sounding from his chest rattled the glasses on the table. But what struck the patriarch as quite entertaining was Vegeta’s tail. It was free from his waist. If the prince were truly mad it would either be wrapped around his middle, seconds away from cutting off his own circulation, or sticking straight out from his backside, fur flaring out as if he were touched by a live wire. Instead it was swiping through the air at intermittent intervals, the end curling and uncurling anytime Bulma poked his nose. He agreed with his wife.

He couldn’t wait either.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! I’d love to hear feedback :)


End file.
